


Cold Nose, Warm Heart

by hgdoghouse



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, murder investigation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-12
Updated: 2011-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-25 23:43:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgdoghouse/pseuds/hgdoghouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the course of a murder investigation at an old people's home Fraser is encouraged to seize the moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Nose, Warm Heart

When Fraser arrived in the squad room Vecchio was on the telephone, the receiver tucked between his jaw and shoulder. Scribbling a list with one hand, he was gesticulating wildly with the other. Fraser’s hopes of an interesting case faded when he saw that Vecchio was taking down a shopping list.

“Yes, Ma. Yes, I’ve got that: ‘Only if they’re ripe.’ But there’s no way I’m going to have time to stop off and get them tonight. Because I’m a cop, Ma. And work has to take precedence over doing the family shopping. Can’t Fran - ? A career! Ma, wearing a pink mouse suit while she hands out samples of cheese in a shopping mall is not a career. Anyway, it’s only part-time. OK, sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. It’s probably low blood-sugar. I haven’t eaten. Yeah, I know I should eat right. I’ve been kinda busy. Apart from talking with you, you mean?”

Vecchio gave the handset a pained look. “How d’you like that! My own mother hung up on me!” Becoming aware that he had gained an audience, his puzzled expression melted into a warm, sweet smile that made the recipient’s unwary heart skip a beat before it resumed its normal steady rhythm.

“Morning, Benny. Can you believe that?”

Having experience of Vecchio’s more improbable leaps of faith, Fraser looked wary. “Believe what, Ray?”

“Ma rang with a list of some shopping she thought I could do for her - between cases.” Vecchio frowned. “Though I guess I was kind of terse. The thing is, if I call her back she’ll think I’m gonna be able to do the shopping.” He tossed his pen onto the desk top. “Why am I bothering you with this?”

“It’s no bother, Ray,” Fraser assured him.

“That was a figure of speech, Benny. Sorry I didn’t get back to you yesterday. I got snowed under. It got so bad I even came in early to try and catch up with the paperwork.” A broad gesture swept a pile of loose arrest sheets from the desk.

“You have a heavy workload?” Picking up the fallen papers, Fraser studied the about-to-topple heaps of files covering the top of the desk, although he knew their proliferation was not a reliable guide.

Vecchio’s expression soured. “You bet. Non-stop. I’m in danger of becoming the Department’s expert on penny-ante - ”

He broke off when a bulging paper sack was dumped on his desk, Elaine’s expression of the kind commonly associated with souring milk - while it was still inside the cow.

“Your order. And if you ever ask me to wait on you again I will personally rip off your windscreen wipers,” she warned him. There was more frost about her than the snow flurries which had held back Spring for the last couple of weeks.

A smile hovering, because she looked so cute when she was mad, Vecchio shook his head in admiration. “Anything but that.”

“I’m serious, Vecchio.”

Thirty years of living with his younger sister had taught Vecchio some self-preservation; recognising all the signs, he surrendered immediately, his hands going up in self-defence.

“Never again. I swear. That smells so good. Elaine, I think I love you.”

“Resist. You owe me another dollar twenty five.”

“Get outta here. For what?”

“The extra relish and that bum quarter you gave me.”

Vecchio looked hurt. “Me try and stiff you?” He found himself pinned by Fraser’s steady gaze and tried to look away but the Mountie’s regard was impossible to ignore or escape, possessing the penetrating qualities more commonly found in a laser.

“It must have been a mistake, OK,” Vecchio told Elaine. “But I’m sorry for any embarrassment it caused you. Here’s a five. Keep the change.”

He glanced up and almost flinched when he saw that Fraser was still watching him with what looked like a trace of disappointment. Vecchio began to wonder how long it had been since he had last been to confession and cracked in under fifteen seconds.

“Damn it, Benny, will you stop staring at me like that? I swear I didn’t try and stiff Elaine with a bum quarter.”

Fraser’s stern expression relaxed. “It seemed out of character.”

“Oh, pleeze.” Elaine rolled her eyes heavenwards, just before she caught Fraser’s steady gaze on her. Fumbling in her purse, she gave Vecchio the change from his five.

“Sorry, Ray. Enjoy your meal.” She left before either or both men could talk her into working another eight hour shift.

“I’m going to. I swear I’ve forgotten what food looks like.” Waxed paper rustled as Vecchio unwrapped the first burger. About to take the blissful bite of a man who hadn’t gotten his teeth into anything for ten hours, he glanced down, sighed and looked up at Fraser, who was tidying a wrecked file.

“Benny, my man. A favor?”

He looked up immediately. “Anything, Ray.”

The comforting thing was that he meant it, Vecchio mused, some of the tension knotting his neck and shoulders beginning to unravel in the other man’s company.

“Elaine forgot to pick up any napkins. Would you mind? The paper towels from the men’s room will be fine.”

“Certainly, Ray.”

Only when the swing doors had flipped back into position after Fraser left the squad room did Vecchio look down between his legs. “Get off my case, mutt. I ordered plenty. So, two for you, one for me. Is that fair? Of course it is. But you’ve got to keep your nose out of my groin.”

“I call it unnatural,” murmured Huey as he passed Vecchio’s desk. As usual, no one took any notice of what he thought.

There was a faint, impatient whine.

“Don’t give me that,” said Vecchio. “I have to unwrap it and take out the relish for you, don’t I? Here. And no dribbling down my pants. They’re new.” A gentle muzzle nudged his hand, an icy nose brushing his palm for a second as Diefenbaker relieved him of the meat patty.

Vecchio shook his head in admiration at the speed and neatness of the disposal. “You know, my brother-in-law Tony could learn a thing or two about table manners from you. There you go, that’s the second one. Have you ever thought of chewing your food?”

Diefenbaker whined.

Vecchio raised his greasy hands. “No. That’s it. There is no more. Definitely not. This one’s mine.”

This time it was the faintest, most plaintive of whines.

“Absolutely not,” said Vecchio in his firmest tone. He took a firm grasp of the burger, as if to reinforce the statement of ownership.

All was silence, but even the fine set of whiskers seemed to droop.

A similar transformation, except for the whiskers, overtook Vecchio as he looked from his burger to the wolf.

“That was the last one. It looked the juiciest, too,” he mourned as he took a morose bite of flaccid bun. It tasted how he imagined greasy blotting paper would taste. Fumbling in the paper sack, he retrieved the containers of ketchup and brown sauce. Parking the bun, he anointed the sad looking piece of lettuce with the tomato pips smeared over it, then put more on the double portion of pickle; slapping the bun back together, he took a huge bite. Before his jaws could begin to cope with the demands imposed on them Fraser returned with a handful of the paper towels that seemed to have been manufactured for the express purpose of disintegrating in wet hands.

Fraser paused when he saw the crumpled napkins and messy sauce containers littering Vecchio’s desk.

“Ah, you found some napkins.”

Vecchio nodded vigorously while he masticated the too large mouthful into submission. “I should have checked the bottom of the bag. Who were you helping out while you were gone?”

Fraser’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise. “How did you know, Ray?”

“Intuition,” said Vecchio, a smile in his eyes as he studied at his neat-as-a-new-pin companion. There really *was* something about a man in a uniform, he mused appreciatively. “Have you eaten?” Too late, he remembered how little he had left to offer.

Fraser gave the greasy remains an unhappy look, then brightened when he remembered he could be completely truthful. “At lunchtime. Have you seen Diefenbaker? He and I came to an agreement about his eating in between meals but I’m afraid he might not intend to abide by the spirit of that agreement.”

“He’s on a diet?”

“Not yet, but he soon will be if he doesn’t start exercising some self-control.”

“That’ll be a weight off everyone’s mind. He’s around somewhere.” Vecchio gestured expansively before he attacked his second bun, holding the top down to disguise the paucity of the contents.

Fraser directed a quizzical look across the desk. “I’m sure he is. Given a choice in the matter he would spend all his time here, begging for food.”

“Yeah? That’s terrible.” Vecchio tried not to wince as, beneath the desk, Diefenbaker rearranged himself for maximum comfort, in the process placing most of his weight on Vecchio’s right foot.

“Are you all right, Ray?” asked Fraser with concern.

“A touch of gas,” Vecchio lied.

The glass door of Lieutenant Welsh’s office opened. “Who’s got the Sunny Heights call?”

“Vecchio,” called three people, all eager to pass the buck.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me? Vecchio, stay put. I’d hate to disturb you,” Welsh said as he approached his detective’s desk.

“Why thank you, sir.”

Welsh gave Vecchio a look of suspicion, but the younger man was too busy eating to appreciate its potential.

“I’ve just had a call from the Mayor’s office.”

“About the Sunny Heights burglaries?” mumbled Vecchio, crumbs spraying with the vehemence of his disbelief.

“I’m glad one of us is finding this humorous. For your information, the Mayor is taking a keen interest in this case. Unlike you. We’ve had another call.”

“Sir?” Vecchio tried to look attentive.

“Reporting some stolen jewellery belonging to Mr Albert Marple. Here are the details.” Welsh looked for a space in which to set the piece of paper and failing to find one made a point of handing it to Vecchio. “About this backlog of paperwork - ” he began wearily, this a discussion they seemed to have every couple of months.

“Jewellery?” prompted Vecchio, hastily injecting some interest into his voice.

Welsh made no attempt to fight the diversion thrown his way. “Yeah. We’re not talking big time here. Estimated value two to three thousand max. But the stuff belonged to his dead wife and Mr Marple is pretty cut up about it. Get on it, Vecchio. Any time in the next five seconds will do,” he added pleasantly.

“Yes, sir.” His shoulders sagging with resignation, Vecchio sadly set down the last of his bun.

“Five minutes tops,” Welsh amended.

Vecchio brightened instantly. “Sir? With the Mayor’s interest in this case, do I get any help?” His tongue shot out, expertly recapturing the trail of escaping ketchup before it could run all the way to his chin.

“What do you think?” Welsh averted his gaze from the sight. “Despite the recent crime wave at Sunny Heights, this is a community for the over seventies, not a hang-out for punks on crack. Besides, you’ll have your resident Mountie at your side, won’t you?”

“Give me a break here, sir. He isn’t even armed.”

Fraser gave a polite little cough. “Actually, Ray, I am wearing - ”

”Shut up, Benny.” At his most earnest, Vecchio leant forward to give Welsh a look any self-respecting spaniel would have been ashamed of. “Even when he does carry it, his gun is never loaded. Worse - without any encouragement from me - he’ll announce as much. Usually to the guy who’s got the drop on us. Call me sensitive - ”

”Never,” Welsh broke in to assure him. “And you can spare me the rest of your sales pitch. You’re on your own.”

Vecchio gave a philosophical shrug. “Figures.” He wiped his greasy fingers on several napkins before crumpling them into a ball and tossing it in the direction of the basket. The napkins separated, opening out to spill across the floor. Looking mildly troubled, Fraser moved off to clear them away.

Following the line of his detective’s gaze, Welsh watched Fraser return from the closet with a bucket and mop and efficiently clean up not only the grease stains but the grime accumulated between the desultory swipes it was given by the cleaners.

“Does he always do that?” the lieutenant asked, fascinated to discover that the floor was several shades lighter than he had assumed.

“All the time, sir. I keep telling him it’ll give us a bad name, but will he listen.” Vecchio craned his neck to peer over a pile of files. “I never knew the floor was this color.”

“Me neither. He’d be handy to have around the place. When his tidy habits weren’t driving you nuts,” Welsh added, after a moment for consideration.

“Like I’d notice with a mother like mine.”

“I can see that,” Welsh acknowledged. His world-weary gaze sharpened. “Did you know there’s no burger in that bun?”

“I got taken by a pro.,” Vecchio confessed in a lugubrious tone.

“It isn’t enough that we’ve got a crime wave going on at some retirement condo, but now you’ve been - !”

“Lower your voice please, sir. It wasn’t exactly crime as we understand the term.” A flick of Vecchio’s head was enough to redirect the lieutenant’s attention to the moist black muzzle just visible under the desk, out of Fraser’s line of vision.

Within his first hour of visiting the precinct house Diefenbaker had learnt to do the rounds. Huey had claimed the wolf was secretly working for one of the vegetarian societies because, one way or the other, the squad were certainly eating less meat - or fish, cheese, eggs, and anything else Diefenbaker found palatable, such as jelly donuts and Milk Duds.

“Uh, right,” said Welsh. If he sounded resigned, as one of Diefenbaker’s principle victims he had good cause. “Well, I don’t want anyone else suffering. See to it. Do you know why I assigned you this case?”

“Because no one else was around when the call came in?”

Welsh gave the faintest of smiles. “Apart from that. I’m serious here, Vecchio. I figured the residents of Sunny Heights deserved someone who would listen to them. Someone who would give them some respect. Someone they could relate to, damn it.”

“Jeez, thanks, Lieutenant.”

“Don’t give me a hard time over this. I have every confidence in you.”

Vecchio looked disillusioned. “What aren’t you telling me, sir?”

Having given it his best shot, Welsh shrugged and came clean. “The Mayor’s mother is a resident.”

“Terrific. A feisty broad with a big mouth?”

“That’s no way to speak about our Mayor,” Welsh told him. All his attention was on the captain as she escorted a party of do-gooders with time on their hands through the squad room. He tried not to notice the perfume she was wearing, or the curve of her hips. He’d never had this trouble with the previous captain; although admittedly Harold Carpenter hadn’t gone in for a blonde rinse or a 34C cup.

A detective first-grade, Vecchio followed the older man’s gaze and his own expression gentled. It was terrible the way love made a fool of a man, he mused as he absently watched Fraser return from putting away the mop and bucket. It was lucky he was immune.

“Why don’t you take the wolf to Sunny Heights with you?” Welsh suggested to Fraser as he approached them.

“You want me to accompany Detective Vecchio, sir?”

Welsh gave a tight little smile. “Oh no, Fraser. You know better than that. I’m not your commanding officer. Still, what could it hurt? Old folks always like animals. He might even be able to track down your arch criminal, for you. Just find him - and whoever’s responsible for all those burglaries.”

On that note of command Welsh marched back into his office. With designs on the jelly donut currently residing in the bottom drawer of his desk, he took care to close the door. He thought seriously about lowering the blind.

“Another burglary?” asked Fraser.

Vecchio looked put-upon. “Yeah. Jewellery again. I tell you, Benny, this series of cases is driving me nuts. There are no witnesses. The perp. might as well have a written invitation - or a key - for all the clues he leaves behind. But there are no contractors with that kind of access and security on the front entrance is pretty impressive. There’s no sign of forced entry. No prints. He even knows exactly where to look for any valuables.”

“Someone living or working at the development, then?”

“It has to be,” said Vecchio, his gloom unabated. “My victims all expect me to work miracles, while they insist on bending my ear about stuff that’s got no relevance to anything. All I’m after is a simple description of the stolen property and instead I get some ditzy old broad giving me her life history. And what she tells me! Believe me, Benny, if I was a woman, children would be out of the question after what I’ve heard. Mrs Necker’s got a memory like a - like a - You wouldn’t believe her memory. I heard about every second of her five deliveries, contraction by contraction. Still, it was better than hearing about Mr Marple’s piles. Then there’s the Dewys. The guy still thinks he could out-box Rocky, while his wife flutters around looking like something out of ‘Arsenic and Old Lace’ crossed with the Dracula film of your choice, telling me about some Romeo she knew fifty years back. This case is the pits. This last month I’ve been out there four times. I listened to them all: the ballerina; the boxer; and a guy who worked on the making of ‘Dumbo’. But I don’t see people with rich lives. All I see is age, and what it does to people. It’s impossible to imagine that they could ever have been young or had dreams.”

The door to Welsh’s office opened. “Vecchio! What are you hanging around for? Get outta here!”

“I’m gone, sir.” Vecchio grabbed his green overcoat from where he had slung it that morning. “Like the wind that - ”

”Just go. And take this animal with you,” growled the lieutenant, who was eating the jelly-less portion of his donut, which was all he had been able to save for himself.

Diefenbaker licked his muzzle, checked the air, and finding no trace of any more junk food, strolled out of the squad room at Fraser’s heels.

“All that sugar will do terrible things to your teeth,” Fraser told him, more in sorrow than in anger. “And I thought we agreed there would be no more eating between meals? Temptation is not an excuse. Just say no. Hold it, Ray!”

“What?” Spinning around, Vecchio checked out the empty corridor. “What?” he added in a different tone.

“You have ketchup on your tie.”

Vecchio gave a yelp of anguish. “Ninety five bucks this tie cost me.”

“And there’s grease on your pants,” Fraser added helpfully.

As Vecchio headed into the men’s room, Fraser tried not to dwell on where the largest stain was located. Although Ray wore his pants so loose that he couldn’t be sure what they were concealing. That is to say, he knew what they must be concealing - at least for Ray’s sake he hoped they did - but not the exact details. And it was the exact details which had been preoccupying him increasingly of late - to the point where he woke up at three thirty three each morning with an erection that refused to die.

There were disadvantages to sharing a room with a wolf. Not that Diefenbaker minded, but it was inhibiting - and not a problem that he could discuss with Ray. Fraser often speculated how Ray would deal with the - well, problem wasn’t quite the word for it. Issue. How Ray wrapped his hand around the issue and - Usually at the most inopportune times, such as when he was on duty outside the Consulate. Of course, it was probably simpler for Ray. He didn’t have a wolf and he did have his own bathroom - if you discounted Mrs Vecchio and Francesa. After a few seconds for reflection Fraser decided that Ray probably preferred to lock his bedroom door and make himself comfortable on his wide, old-fashioned bed.

Fraser discovered that if he concentrated he could produce an image so real that he half-expected Ray to look up and see him. Not that he had any desire to distract the man sprawled at his ease, a dreamy, introverted look on his face. Shirtless, the tiny crucifix Ray wore was caught in a curl of body hair; it was so humid there was a light sheen of sweat on his skin. As Fraser continued to concentrate on maintaining the picture in his mind’s eye Ray eased open the fastener to his pants, followed by the purr of a zipper sliding open. His hand slipped inside and -

Oh dear.

In an urgent attempt to divert his thoughts from such dangerous topics Fraser stared at the glossy tips of his brown boots; it was that or watch Ray. Not watching Ray was getting harder and - More difficult as time went by.

The problem was, he had always liked the way Ray moved within his clothing; shoulders hunched with tension, talking in staccato bursts as he strode along, looking as if he was sublimely at ease with himself and with his surroundings whether his behaviour and dress were appropriate for the occasion or not. It had taken Fraser some time to realise that appearances could be deceiving, Ray far less confident in some situations that he might seem. But it didn’t alter the way he moved. While Ray never mentioned it, he must find time to work-out because Fraser could remember far too well for comfort the firm definition of muscles in the upper arms and chest. And the pleasing drift of body hair across his chest and down past his navel; the wide, strong shoulders -

Yes, Ray’s chest had cost him several uneasy nights. Fraser knew he should be grateful that Ray didn’t go in for tight pants. Ray had wonderfully powerful thighs.

Don’t think about the thighs, Fraser reminded himself, beginning to feel rather warm. He tugged at his collar, which seemed tighter than usual. Looking up, he almost groaned when he noticed the area Vecchio was rubbing so rhythmically with a handful of paper towels.

“Will you look at this,” complained Vecchio, frowning at the damp stain adorning the front of his pants before he glanced up. “Are you OK, Benny? You look kind of flushed.”

Fraser’s eyes flickered. While there was no excuse, this was one of those times when only a lie would do. “Just a tad warm, Ray.”

“In here? Not a chance. It must be the way the lighting bounces off that red jacket. Remind me to get these pants to the dry cleaners once this is all over,” added Vecchio as he swept out of the door in a swirl of mohair topcoat.

A patrolman stepped back just in time.

“You take a wolf into the men’s room?” he said incredulously.

“He’s a guy, isn’t he?” called Vecchio without looking back. Once outside the building confidence drained away as he turned a full three hundred and forty degrees.

Fraser remained pointed due north north-east. “Where are we going, Ray?”

“Nowhere until I can remember where I parked the Riv.”

“After that,” said Fraser patiently.

“Sunny Heights. It’s a development overlooking what used to be a part of the old freight depot before they prettied it up. The result? Over-priced condos where most of the apartments face north or east and there never seems to be enough air circulating. The place gives me the horrors. It’s so quiet you keep wondering what’s going on behind the closed doors. And then there’s this - smell.”

Fraser’s eyes widened.

“No, not *that*,” Vecchio reassured him quickly. “No, this is more - stuffy, I guess. Everywhere is clean enough. Jeez, it’s cold out here. It’ll snow again for sure.”

Fraser sniffed the air. “I believe this sleet will give way to clearer skies tonight.”

Vecchio stopped in his tracks. “You *smell* the weather?” He made it sound like the grossest perversion.

“That is correct, but at present I am attempting to locate your car. Ah, Dief has it. This way.”

Resignation on his face, Vecchio jogged after the pair without a murmur of protest. “I’ll have to teach you to pick locks,” he remarked to Diefenbaker as he fumbled through his pockets for the key. “Damn, but it’s miserable out. Hey, Benny. Did I tell you this great piece of graffiti I saw the other day. *Calling all animal lovers! We wish to inform you that your hobbies are illegal.*” He was laughing so hard that he could hardly finish speaking. It was a while before he realised that his companion was simply looking puzzled.

“Don’t you get it, Benny?”

“What hobbies are they referring to, Ray?”

“Uh - ” On the receiving end of one of Fraser’s special stares, Vecchio’s explanation spluttered and died. Then he gave his bland-faced companion a frown of suspicion. “Are you yanking my chain?”

“The expression means nothing to me.”

“Get outta here. I know I must be beat when I’m out-psyched by a Mountie.”

“Better me than Diefenbaker. Wolves are notoriously short on humor.”

“I don’t know so much,” mused Vecchio, before he met the hard stare Diefenbaker was directing at him and immediately changed the subject. “Is my nose red? No, don’t tell me. My nose always turns red in the cold.” Disconcerted by the intensity of his companion’s regard he could hear himself starting to ramble.

“Actually, Ray, it is more of a light maroon at present.”

“Is that supposed to help?” he demanded, feeling self-conscious because Benny was still looking at him and he couldn’t figure out why. Unable to stop himself from making the gesture, he brushed his groin inconspicuously to check his flies weren’t unfastened.

“No. I was being facetious.” Waiting for the de-mister to kick in, Fraser lightly touched Vecchio’s nose with the back of his warm fingers. “Your nose is cold.”

“I told you it was. What did you do that for?” added Vecchio, looking wary as he fastened his seat belt.

“’Cold nose, warm heart’, my grandmother used to say.”

“Isn’t that just for dogs?” asked Vecchio as they headed across town.

“I don’t think so, Ray. It works for Dief, too. Why is Lieutenant Welsh taking such an interest in this case?” Fraser added.

Vecchio shrugged. “I think he’s working through some private stuff. He’s been kind of quiet recently. A couple of days ago he let slip that his mother’s just moved into this development down in Florida. It’s my guess he’s guilt-tripping. Besides, I figure he’s still detective enough to be as antsy about this case as I am. While it’s all been penny-ante stuff so far, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. See, we get the first call about a month back. These aren’t rich people, but they’re not on welfare either. A Mrs Henderson reported two hundred and twenty two bucks stolen from her bureau and some silver coffee spoons. Two days later Mrs Necker finds her engagement ring’s gone missing - her fingers are too swollen with arthritis for her to be able to wear it any more, so some low life comes in and - Anyway, it’s a good stone, so I think maybe we’re in with a chance of tracking it down in the neighborhood. *Nada*. After that the calls come in thick and fast. Fourteen residents in all: mainly stolen cash and jewellery - often stuff belonging to a dead partner. Oh, and a Purple Heart. These are decent people, Benny. They’re already too scared to go out after dark. And in the winter so many of them are wary of falling on the ice that they don’t get out much. Now they’re afraid in their own homes. No one should have to spend the rest of their life being afraid.”

“Is that why you became a policeman?” asked Fraser, his tone so casual that it took a moment for the deeply personal question to sink in.

Vecchio shot him a quick, hard stare, as if he felt ashamed of being caught out, before he gave a dismissive shrug. “That and the fact my old man hated cops. I wouldn’t like to say which gave me the strongest motivation.”

“I could hazard a guess,” said Fraser.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” demanded Vecchio. His spiky manner made it obvious that the other man had hit a nerve.

“That you rarely give yourself the credit you deserve. Do you have a suspect?” Fraser added, sensing that a change of subject was called for.

“I wish. The janitor seemed a good bet. Larry Nevins. Thirty four. Some juvenile offenses for theft. He claims he’s a reformed character.”

“That does happen.”

“And Elvis is alive and well and working in the five and dime round the corner. Nevins is too good to be true. Blond, blue eyes, works out. Always got a smile. Flirts with the old ladies, defers to the guys. He’s a regular prince.”

“You don’t like him.”

Vecchio gave a wry shrug. “You got me there, Benny. He’s the sort of guy who always got the girl when I was a kid. But much as I’d love to see him go down for this, he’s clean. He was on vacation in New York for two weeks, during which there were five of the biggest thefts. I had someone in New York check him out. Larry Nevins was there all right, proposing to his long-time girlfriend. Romantic, huh?”

“A vacation in New York would be expensive.”

“Tell me about it,” said Vecchio with feeling. “His old man died. Left him just over three thousand dollars. Which Nevins managed to blow in just over two weeks. Not bad going. Expensive habits like that should make him a prime suspect.”

“You haven’t told me who your suspect is,” said Fraser as he watched Vecchio fidget where he sat.

“Because I don’t have anything to back it up with but feelings. And bad feelings about a case aren’t enough, Benny.”

“No, they’re not,” Fraser agreed. “But sometimes verbalising them can help to clarify your thoughts - or relieve tension.”

“I’m that bad?” said Vecchio with a wry grin. “You’re right. I’ve been a real pain in the butt, I know. This case *is* getting to me. I’ve got a bad feeling about one of the people living in the east wing, where all the burglaries have taken place. There’s this old guy - Henry Mayne. He claims he had money stolen but he’s lying. I can smell it. In Sunny Heights the women out-number the guys seven to one. Those men there meet up regularly. They shoot the breeze, have a couple of beers, watch a game. And, while I’m not supposed to know about it, they have this floating poker game running. They use a different apartment each Saturday night. Mayne was invited to join them a couple of times, then he was left out in the cold. Reading between the lines, I figure he must’ve cheated or something. So I did some checking. He’s down two thousand to Johnny Cannetti, the loan shark. Word is, Johnny isn’t the only one. Imagine, Johnny Cannetti taken in by a seventy eight year old guy.”

An expert in the Vecchio body language, Fraser pursed his lips. “But?”

“I don’t have a shred of evidence to pin the robberies on Mayne. Yet when I mention his name around the development I get a reaction. More a sort of frisson, but no one’s talking. I tell you, Benny, this case is driving me nuts. This is no job for me.”

“On the contrary, Ray. You would be my first choice.” Fraser knew why Welsh had assigned Vecchio to the case - and why Ray hated it so much. He had become personally involved and he always hated cases where that happened. There were a number of able officers on the squad, but none who would take such an interest in a relatively minor case. Ray would have given this a great deal of his personal time. It explained why they had seen so little of one another recently.

A pleased expression crossed Vecchio’s face. “You would? Well, how about that. Really? You’d really choose me?”

“Of course, Ray. You understand the senile.”

Digesting that remark, it was some time before Vecchio realised he was being teased. Then doubt set in and he glanced at Fraser, who nodded gravely at him.

“Yes, I was. But I am sure you were also Lieutenant Welsh’s first choice.”

“So he claimed. Welcome to Sunny Heights,” said Vecchio, pulling up with a flourish outside a development which possessed all the charm of Fifties Soviet architecture. “Let’s go and see Mr Marple. It was his dead wife’s jewellery that was stolen.”

“Ah,” said Fraser.

“Right. As you can see, Sunny Heights is neither.” About to lock the car, Vecchio reopened his door and gestured Diefenbaker out. “Move it, mutt. If I’ve got to freeze my butt off, I’m damn sure you do. I thought wolves liked snow,” he added to Fraser as they trudged across the churned up slush.

“It’s a common misconception, Ray.”

“You’re putting me on.”

“Only a little. Dief likes snow, but not in the city when it quickly turns to a slush polluted with all kinds of - ”

”’kay, I get the picture,” said Vecchio hastily. “We’ll have to see if we can take the mutt up to some cleaner snow once I’ve cracked this case. It wouldn’t do you any harm either. Though I don’t want to think what it’ll do to me.”

Relaxing, Fraser listened to Vecchio moaning gently all the way up to Mr Marple’s apartment. Newly released from hospital, Mr Marple was inclined to be tearful about the loss of his wife’s jewellery, although he could not be sure when he had seen it last. Fraser stood back, marvelling at Vecchio’s patience as he steered the older man through his statement.

“You’ve been busy since I was here last, Mr Marple. The place looks real smart,” Vecchio said as he toyed with the coffee he had accepted only because he knew the older man was desperate for company.

“It looks fine, doesn’t it,” the older man said proudly.

“Yes, it does, sir. You’re a handy man to have around.”

Smiling, Marple slapped his thigh with pleasure. “Not me. I was never much good around the home. Mary used to rag me about it. But Larry - you know Larry Nevins? He’s a great guy, isn’t he? - can turn his hand to most things. He redecorated for me in his free time. Gave me a good rate too. He’s a clean worker.”

“It certainly looks like it. He does it all himself?” asked Vecchio, his tone admiring.

Mr Marple’s grin was an advert for his dentist. “No, even Larry has his limits. His brother-in-law helps him out. And works solo when Larry’s working. It suited me fine. It was done while I was in hospital. It’s important to have someone you can trust in your home.”

“Absolutely, sir,” agreed Fraser as Vecchio excused himself for a moment. Realising that he would be using the opportunity to call in, Fraser kept Mr Marple talking.

A new bounce to his step as he emerged from the bathroom, Vecchio eased them both out of the apartment to go and talk to the other burglary victims. It didn’t take them long to ascertain that Spring fever had come early to Sunny Heights. Twenty three of the residents had asked Larry and his brother-in-law to do work in their apartments, from minor repairs to major decorating jobs.

“So damn easy,” said Vecchio in disgust. “Chuck Peters must’ve thought it was Christmas all over again.” A look of surprise crossed his face. “You’re leaving?”

“I have to, Ray. I’m on the late shift.”

Vecchio gave a wry shrug. “I’d forgotten you have a job that pays. Can you believe that? Watch out for low-flying pigeons. I’ll have this case wrapped by tomorrow. You see.”

oOo

By the following afternoon, as Vecchio had predicted, it was all over. To his irritation, his irrational dislike of the too perfect Larry Nevins had no justification; it turned out that his brother-in-law, Chuck, had been scamming him along with the elderly residents of Sunny Heights. A representative from the management company came down and it was only the intervention of the residents, spear-headed by Mrs Jabowlski, that saved Larry’s job. She was a desiccated eighty-six year old widow with arthritis, angina, one eye and an undiminished zest for life.

“He must be a really special guy,” Vecchio said sourly as he escorted her back to her apartment, matching his stride to her smaller steps without appearing to do so.

“He’s an ingratiating son-of-a-bitch, but he’s trustworthy - and he’s got great buns. At my age I take my pleasures where I can find them.”

The relish in her voice surprised Vecchio into a crack of laughter; Mrs Jabowlski made old age seem something to look forward to rather than the reverse.

“You sure know how to get a lot of pleasure out of life,” he said as he ushered her out of the elevator.

“She paused to look up at him. “*Carpe diem*,” she said simply.

Vecchio looked blank. “How’s that?”

“It’s a smart - or pretentious, take your pick - way of saying that, like a lot of things in life, it’s a matter of having to get it when you can. Seize the day! Does it shock you that I can still appreciate a sexy man?” she added with interest.

“Of course not. Well, maybe. Some,” Vecchio admitted. While Mrs Jabowlski would never have been beautiful, she still possessed the remnants of a sex-appeal which must have made her hell on wheels in her prime. “I’d never really thought about it before. It’s kind of nice to know,” he added, still wary of talking sex with a woman old enough to be his grandmother.

She patted him - not on the arm. “Thank you for being so honest. It shocks the hell out of my daughter and grandchildren. Though my great-grandkids understand. So will you fifty years from now. Where’s that gorgeous young redcoat today?”

“Working, ma’am. At the Canadian Consulate.”

“Pity. From what I could see he had a fine ass on him too.”

“You bet,” said Vecchio with plenty of enthusiasm but no thought.

He left soon afterwards, pretending not to notice Mrs Jabowlski’s wide grin.

oOo

Fraser arrived in the squad room while Vecchio was struggling with his paperwork which, thanks to his recent success, was threatening to get out of control. Seeing the Mountie coming towards him, he sat back in his chair and happily started to tell him the entire story.

“ - The worst of it is, I had to break it to everyone that the likelihood of getting their valuables back is zilch. Though I’ve put a little pressure on the slimeball who bought the stuff.”

“It was good work, Ray.”

“Nah,” he dismissed. “It was a breeze once Mr Marple gave me that break. I should have thought to check who stood in for Larry while he was away in New York. It never occurred to me. Dumb. Are you still on late shift?” Vecchio added without pausing for breath.

“Yesterday was my last for three weeks. Shall we celebrate the end of the case?”

“Sure. Have you got any real money?” Vecchio added with suspicion.

Fraser looked regretful.

“Figures. With three days to go to payday it’ll have to be a cheap evening. Hey, your nose must be failing you. Too much city air, maybe.”

Fraser frowned his incomprehension.

“We had snow last night,” Vecchio prompted.

“Ah, yes, we did,” Fraser conceded. “And I believe you might be right. My sense of smell is not acute as it once was and - ” He stopped when Vecchio’s telephone rang.

Vecchio pulled a face but answered it immediately, his changing expression enough to make Fraser take their top coats from the rack.

“The celebration will have to wait, Benny. That was Larry Nevins over at Sunny Heights. Henry Mayne is missing. A buddy who lives in another condo came over for his birthday. They always make an occasion of it and the celebrations were all arranged. So Larry asked around. No one’s seen Henry since Sunday evening. His apartment is empty. No sign of a struggle.”

“You think the loan shark has got tired of waiting for repayment?” asked Fraser as they hurried out to Vecchio’s car.

“Maybe. But even Johnny Canetti wouldn’t beat up a seventy eight year old guy over some cheapskate loan.”

Vecchio drove to Sunny Heights with a grim concentration, his tension obvious in every line of his body. Sensing that he was withholding information for some reason, Fraser made no attempt to break the silence as he considered his companion. For a man who talked so much Ray had mastered the art of saying very little; perhaps during his childhood, he speculated, knowing how much of that period of his life Vecchio had kept from his mother, who had been out working wherever she could to keep the family together, while his father drank and gambled away whatever he made in the pool hall.

Drawing up outside the development Vecchio stepped out of the car and into a heap of slush a good eight inches deep. His yell of disgust echoed in the frosty air.

“How come you never step calf deep in this crap? Ugh! I wanna go home, Benny. Now. This minute.” He threw back his head and flung out his arms. “Beam me up, Scotty.”

“Uh, Ray. Who is Scotty?”

“You don’t know Scotty?” asked Vecchio with disbelief, looking up from where he was emptying ice crystals from his loafer.

Fraser’s look of mystification increased. “Should I?” Ray had a tendency to assume that all his friends knew each other.

“I don’t believe this. Even in the northern wastes of Canada you’d think you would have heard of *The Enterprise*.”

“Ah, the space shuttle.”

“Ship, Benny. Space ship. Commanded by Captain James T. Kirk. *Star Trek*. You must have heard of *Star Trek*. Even Great-Uncle Leon who talks to little green men has heard of *Star Trek*.”

“I’ve heard of it. I just don’t understand the relevance of what you said.”

“What did I say? Oh, about Scotty.” Vecchio pulled a pained face as he pushed his wet, cold foot back into his wet, cold loafer. “Scotty is the chief engineer and Kirk is always saying ‘Beam me up, Scotty,’ when he’s in trouble. And Scotty does every time. What now?” he added, a shade defensive when he saw the expression on Fraser’s face.

“Why would you call on someone from a TV show for help?”

Vecchio gave a deep sigh and slung an arm around his companion’s shoulders. “It’s an American thing, Benny.”

Vecchio lost track of what he had been about to add as he became uncomfortably aware of the man who was only a few distracting inches away from him. The cold had brought a tinge of color to Fraser’s cheeks and Vecchio couldn’t stop staring at his well-cut lips; his own parted fractionally. Benny had one hell of a kissable mouth. Kind of wistful but passionate at the same time, he decided, before he realised what he was thinking and virtually pushed his companion away.

“That explains a lot, Ray,” said Fraser. He looked slightly flushed.

Vecchio gave him a look of suspicion. “Is that good?”

Fraser’s slow smile lit his entire face. “It’s very good, Ray. When I get Mr Mustaphi’s TV set fixed for sound maybe we could watch a re-run of *Star Trek*.”

“It’s a date,” said Vecchio. “I suppose we should get on the case. Henry Mayne. Before I see Johnny Cannetti I want to do a little checking around Sunny Heights. There’s always someone looking out a window.”

About to move away from the car, he paused and unlocked it again. “Out, Dief. Maybe we could get him some of those little rubber booties you see some pooches wearing,” Vecchio mused, grinning when Diefenbaker whined and pointedly moved to walk beside Fraser.

As they trudged up to the front entrance something caught Fraser’s eye and he paused and touched Vecchio’s arm to gain his attention.

“Do you see those tracks in the snow? Over there, by the section of wall on the side of the east wing?”

“From this distance? Are you kidding? Even the faithful Tonto wouldn’t have been able to spot them. And before you ask, he was the side-kick of the Lone Ranger. He had a horse called Silver.”

“Tonto?”

“You think the Indian got to be the hero? Get real, Benny.” Vecchio had changed course and was heading for the east wing. The tracks in the snow appeared where the development was at its lowest with only six floors.

“This is odd,” Vecchio said, puzzled.

Fraser turned to him. “You may remember it began to snow yesterday evening. Presumably in between the object being brought here and moved away again the snow covered the first set of tracks.” Crouching down, he examined the packed and grimy snow. “These marks appear to have been made by some kind of a wheeled container.”

Vecchio obediently hunkered down beside him, but it did not take an experienced tracker to see that Fraser was right.

“Like a dumpster?” Vecchio asked.

“Like a dumpster,” confirmed Fraser.

“Where else would the garbage go?” muttered Vecchio as they followed the uneven gouges in the snow. He winced as they rounded the corner and met the full force of an unforgiving wind; Diefenbaker whined and moved behind Fraser, who seemed impervious to the cold. Vecchio muttered to himself as he lost all sensation in his nose, ears and cold right foot.

As they expected the tracks led back to where the dumpsters were stored outside the boiler room.

“These tracks were crooked and unsteady,” said Fraser, “and the patches of slush where the snow has been churned up suggests that whoever was pushing the dumpster had to make frequent stops.”

“Larry Nevins was released by seven o’clock yesterday evening,” pointed out Vecchio, more in hope than expectation.

“Larry Nevins is thirty four. In the prime of life.”

Like you, thought Vecchio unguardedly, his mind full of images of Benny’s sleek, compact body in those red longjohns. Speculating on how it would feel to unpeel him from them; to run his hands over that creamy skin, exploring it inch by inch until -

“Ray? Are you all right?” asked Fraser worriedly.

“I’m cold, tired and hungry. Why shouldn’t I be all right?” Vecchio snapped, although cold was the last thing he felt right now. At the surprise on his companion’s face, he grimaced. “I’m fine. And you’re right. Whoever moved this dumpster had a struggle getting it back. The tracks stopped under what must be apartment eleven for the first through to sixth floors.”

“The only reason for going to all the effort of moving a dumpster all that way would be if they needed to drop something into it. Something too heavy - or too difficult - to dispose of in the usual way,” mused Fraser.

Vecchio eyed the dumpster in question, then swung himself up and dropped inside it. The high metal walls concealed him almost to the shoulders.

“Stay put, Benny. This won’t take two of us.” From his flattened voice it was obvious he knew what he would find. Uneasily balanced as he stood swaying on the sacks of refuse, Vecchio’s movements were oddly gentle as he moved garbage to reveal the curled fingers of a hand. He continued to work until he had revealed the face and upper torso. There had been some rodent damage.

“So much for my intuition,” he said, his face tight with distaste. “Meet Henry Mayne, Benny. From the dent in his skull - Help me out of here so I can call in. This is going to take a while.”

 

The fact the mayor’s mother lived at Sunny Heights, even if she was on the other side of the development, ensured that Vecchio had all the help he needed on this investigation. Having heard Henry Mayne officially declared dead, and the time of death put at some time the previous night, Vecchio set off to talk to those living in flat eleven on each of the six floors.

Flat 111 was unoccupied after the death from natural causes of its occupant eight days ago; the occupants of flat 211 were on a cruise to celebrate their diamond wedding anniversary. Vecchio led the way up the stairs in a silence Fraser made no attempt to break. Mrs Jabowlski occupied the apartment on the third floor.

“What are you doing back here so soon?” she demanded on seeing who her callers were. “And don’t patronize me, young man. Just come right out with whatever it is you want to know. If it’s about those thefts, I’ve already told you that I can’t help,” she added in the forthright tone that was at a variance with her frail appearance.

“No ma’am, it’s not about those. I thought - ”

“What was that you said? You thought? I’m glad to hear it. I suppose you expect me to be as senile as Dottie. Don’t bother to deny it. I should be used to it after all these years of busybodies thinking they knew what was best for me. If you insist on coming in, you must leave that animal outside. I won’t have it messing up my apartment. Though why the Chicago Police Department should want to use wolves is beyond me. Take off your coats or you won’t feel the benefit when you go back outside.”

While sharp-tongued and keen-witted, both her sight and hearing were failing her and she could offer no help beyond some scurrilous portraits of her neighbours, all of whom she dismissed as ‘senile’.

Taking the stairs up to the fourth floor, Vecchio exchanged a look with Fraser. “Some broad, huh?”

“A real character. But she was being economical with the truth.”

“You noticed that, did you?”

“You didn’t press her.”

“I didn’t need to,” admitted Vecchio. “The next apartment belongs to Mrs Sondeheim.”

She was a plump, scared looking seventy-five year old who must have been remarkably pretty as a girl. When Henry Mayne’s name was mentioned her face crumpled and she began to cry. Fraser stood to attention behind Vecchio, listening as the other man gently questioned her about anything she might have seen or heard since the previous evening. Fraser realised that Ray was putting off the inevitable but made no attempt to intervene. Vecchio’s mouth tightened when Mrs Sondeheim mentioned the odd sounds she had heard in the middle of the night. She had calmed by now, her tears seeming to have been caused by shock more than distress at learning of Mayne’s death.

“Thank you for your help, ma’am. We may need a statement from you later but someone will call and - ”

“Will I have to come down to the station?” she interrupted with a betraying eagerness.

“Uh - ” Vecchio looked taken aback. “Sure,” he recovered to say. “In a patrol car, if that’s all right with you ma’am?”

She was pink with pleasure by the time they left, happily anticipating the treat ahead of her.

“I can’t imagine Mrs Sondeheim having much in common with Mrs Jabowlski,” Fraser remarked as they approached the apartment on the fifth floor.

Grim-faced, Vecchio made no reply as he rang the buzzer to the Dewy’s apartment. They were used to waiting longer than usual for the occupant to answer the door.

Mr Dewy recognised Vecchio and invited them in without waiting to hear what he wanted. Before Vecchio had done more than explain that they were investigating the murder of Henry Mayne, Dewy began a diatribe against the dead man.

“I won’t pretend I’m sorry. He was an evil man. Evil! Not that I had to put up with any nonsense from him. I boxed for the army and I still keep myself in shape. Here, feel this muscle.” He offered up a stringy bicep. “Go on, man, feel it. Keeping in shape is just a matter of footwork. I can still defend what’s mine, you know.”

“I’m sure you can, Mr Dewy,” said Vecchio. “I wonder if you could answer a few questions for - ”

“I knew I would remember eventually,” interrupted Mrs Dewy. “I always do in time.” She paused, as if expecting congratulations.

The reluctance with which Vecchio turned to her warned Fraser that something was wrong.

“What’s that, ma’am?”

“What they say about bald men being able to keep it up forever.” She gave Vecchio a sly smile. “You look like you’d be a horny guy. Are you virile?”

Vecchio’s eyes slid away to settle on the middle distance. “Uh, no, ma’am.”

“Nor is Davy,” she mourned, before she brightened. “You’ll take coffee?”

“No, thank you, ma’am.” Vecchio turned his attention back to Mr Dewy, who was shadow-boxing to demonstrate to Fraser the right jab which had won him the championship in 1947.

“I would have won again in ‘48, only I was robbed. On points. The little squirt they put up against me was no damn good. No heart.”

“No heart, sir?” prompted Vecchio as he joined them.

“It all comes down to heart. Not just to get in the ring. Any fool can do that. I’m talking about possessing the heart to fight until there’s nothing left but the determination not to give up. That’s the real secret. Never give up. You ever box, son?”

“No, sir,” said Vecchio attentively.

“You don’t know what you’ve missed. There’s nothing to beat - ”

“Have you got a big cock?” interrupted Mrs Dewy again. Her hand moved and Vecchio flinched, a faint color creeping up into his face as he gently eased her hand free of his groin, then released it and stepped away. But he didn’t look surprised.

“I like a man with a big cock. I need - ”

“I wonder if you can help me ma’am,” said Fraser as he tenderly took charge and steered her to a low armchair. Crouching at Mrs Dewy’s side, he drew a comforter over her legs and engaged her in conversation, his voice a soothing murmur.

Mr Dewy gave no sign of having noticed the exchange.

“ - like it up the ass, too. A big cock. Ramming me - ” fluted the whispery voice in the background. “They say my Alan’s lost. Have you ever heard of such a thing? As if I wouldn’t know. When you next call at the store we could use more milk. How can he be lost? I always leave a light on in the window.”

Vecchio gave an audible swallow and began to sweat.

“When did you last see Mr Mayne, sir? Can you remember?”

“Of course I can remember,” snapped Mr Dewy. “It was Saturday afternoon. He thought he could wangle his way into our pok - our game of cards. But I soon put him straight.”

“No, Davy,” interrupted Mrs Dewy brightly. “It was last night. You came back from visiting Tim in hospital in time to see Henry trying to put his fingers up inside me. But I didn’t like it. I didn’t!” Her hand tightened over Fraser’s forearm, her faded blue eyes wide with confusion and anxiety. “I didn’t encourage him, whatever the others try and tell you. Henry Mayne is an evil man. Evil. You ask Joy Sondeheim. She knows, although she won’t admit it. She’s never admitted it. I was lucky. I have my Davy and he won’t stand for any nonsense. He just squared up to him and -

“Oh.” It was a broken cry, one hand flying to her mouth too late to stop the betrayal. “There now, and I promised I wouldn’t tell. And it was important that I didn’t tell.” She pushed herself to her feet but her husband was already at her side.

“It doesn’t matter, Dottie. It’s fine. Fine,” David Dewy repeated softly, his arm around his wife’s shoulders as he squared up to the younger men.

“Have you found him?” Mrs Dewy continued, sounding happier now. “That dumpster was the only place I could think of to hide him. I’ve always had a good head in a crisis. Louis Green will tell you that. Have you found him?” Her hair must have been blonde once and her cheeks were like rose petals just before they dropped from the ripening seed head. Except that here there was no ripeness - the opposite in fact.

“Yes, we’ve found him,” confirmed Vecchio, crouching down in front of where she sat, her husband at her side; Mr Dewy was shaking slightly, for all his air of defiance.

“You’re not as pretty as the other one but bald men are always hornier,” she said, a disquieting gleam in her eyes as she plucked at the front of her blouse; pearl-sheened buttons slipped open. “I like you. But you shouldn’t have tried to fuck me.”

“No, ma’am. I’m sorry,” said Vecchio. His voice was so sad and so gentle that it made Fraser’s heart ache.

Vecchio glanced up to where Mr Dewy stood. Belligerent confidence drained away, he looked all of his eight-four years as he gazed at his wife.

“Would you like to tell me what happened, Mr Dewy?”

His eyes moist, David Dewy slowly looked from his wife to the detective who was about to tear what remained of his life to shreds.

“There’s not much to say. I killed him. Me. By myself. Me, you understand? Dottie had nothing to do with this. She gets confused, that’s all.”

“I understand, sir.” Vecchio read him the caution, then pulled up a chair so that Dewy could sit beside his wife. “Why don’t you tell me about it.”

Dewy looked helpless. “Where should I start?”

“Wherever seems appropriate, sir. You’d been visiting your friend Tim in hospital.”

“Tim? You know Tim? That’s odd. He never said he knew you. Perhaps he’s jealous,” suggested Mrs Dewy slyly, drifting a yellowing finger nail down Vecchio’s face. Capturing her hand, he tucked it back on her lap, his gaze never leaving her husband.

“Henry was bleeding into our carpet,” Dewy said abruptly, as if to drown out the sound of his wife’s voice as she talked to Fraser about her first day at school. “I couldn’t think what to do with him. Then I remembered that Larry would be out visiting his woman-friend. So I waited until nearly two before I went out to wheel one of the dumpsters round from the boiler room and set it below our window. The snow muffled the worst of the noise and most people around here don’t hear too well. Then I came back up here. I had to rest for a spell. It was heavy work. I must’ve dozed off before Dottie woke me up talking to - Talking.” When he stopped, Vecchio gave an encouraging nod.

“It would have been tough moving that dumpster in the snow.”

“Damn right it was. Anyway, I dragged Henry over to the window and hauled him up onto the ledge so I could tip him out into the dumpster. I’ve always had a good eye for distance. While he caught the edge, he fell inside, not out. I don’t know what I would have done if he’d fallen outside the dumpster. I’m not as spry as I used to be. It was hard work getting the dumpster back in place, but I managed it.” There was a hint of pride in his voice now.

“Did anyone help you, sir?” asked Vecchio.

“No. No one! And don’t you go suggesting otherwise. I didn’t need any help! I don’t regret it, you know. Not for a moment. He was an evil son-of-a-bitch. Excuse my language, Dottie. We gave him the hospitality of our home and all the time he was trying to - He hurt Dottie,” Dewy added in a different tone. “She was crying and he was telling me all these filthy lies about her. So I hit him. For all his big talk he wasn’t used to facing up to a real man. He tried to make out that she was leading him on. Asking for it. So I hit him again. He fell and caught his head on the corner of that unit. He must have gone down hard because he was dead when I checked him out.”

While preliminary medical reports did not support that, Vecchio made no attempt to interrupt the flow.

“We were up late this morning. It was only then that I noticed the blood on the carpet. I emptied out Dottie’s china from the unit and moved it forwards a few inches to hide the bloodstains. I know a man is dead, but I’d do it again if I had to,” Dewy added fiercely.

“Who are these men, Davy? Are they here about Alan? Is Alan coming home?” Mrs Dewy asked fretfully, plucking at her blouse again. Several more buttons had slipped open, the blouse now completely unfastened; beneath it was a complicated array of straps. All sinew and sagging folds of flesh, it was impossible to tell what sort of figure she had once possessed.

“No, Dottie. Alan’s missing, don’t you remember? In Vietnam.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to come down to the station with me, sir. Mrs Dewy will have to come too,” said Vecchio.

“No! I did it all alone! Alone, do you hear me?”

Vecchio nodded and stared at his shoes. “I hear you, sir. Do you have any family who can take care of your wife?” He already knew the answer. Their only child - Alan - had been listed as missing in 1967 when his plane was shot down up country in Vietnam. Both Mr and Mrs Dewy still spoke of him in the present tense.

“Look after Dottie? Don’t be ridiculous. I look after Dottie. Always have done, always will. We can’t be parted. We haven’t been parted since I left the army. She needs me.”

Mrs Dewy half-rose, panic on her face. “Davy, where are you going? You promised you wouldn’t leave me again. Not again! Don’t go, Davy. I don’t understand what’s happening!”

It became unspeakable soon after that.

 

Vecchio and Fraser’s last sight of Mrs Dewy was of watching her grope one of the paramedics, while calling for her husband in a penetrating voice which seemed to echo down the years.

For a moment no one in the room spoke, or met each other’s eyes.

“I’ve gotta sort out the red tape,” said Vecchio as the forensics team got down to work.

“I thought I might check on Mrs Sondeheim and Mrs Jabowlski,” said Fraser, his manner equally muted.

When Vecchio glanced up, his eyes looked bruised by his pent-up emotions. “That’s a good thought, Benny.”

“I will meet you back at the precinct house then?”

“Sure, Benny,” murmured Vecchio, who was already turning away.

Seconds later Fraser heard the sound of a nose being blown from out in the hallway.

“Jeez, I sure hope Vecchio hasn’t given me his cold,” remarked one of the forensics team. “With a nose the size of his - ” Catching the Mountie’s eye he forgot whatever insult he had been about to make and got back to work collecting fibres from the carpet.

Tugging down the jacket of his uniform, Fraser went to see Mrs Sondeheim. She was engrossed in a re-run of the *Mary Tyler Moore Show* and hadn’t heard a thing.

On the floor below her Mrs Jabowlski seemed subdued as she let him into her apartment, a brisk gesture including Diefenbaker.

“So it *was* Davy,” she remarked as she sipped the milky tea which Fraser has made for her.

“I can’t comment, ma’am. It isn’t my case and - ”

“It’s fine. I don’t want to know the details. I don’t need to.” Her inner sparkle dimmed by the confirmation of what she had obviously suspected, she was uncharacteristically quiet as she finished her tea.

“I wonder if Diefenbaker and I might stay for a while?” Fraser made the suggestion diffidently. While their acquaintance had been short, it was impossible to meet Mrs Jabowlski and not be aware of her fierce independence.

Refocusing, her expression gentled, whatever she had been about to snap back at him forgotten. “I should like that. Make yourself a hot drink, then come and tell me about yourself.”

Much to his astonishment, Fraser heard himself doing just that, although he failed to appreciate how often Vecchio’s name cropped up in the conversation.

“While you’re here, I’d appreciate you doing me a favor,” Mrs Jabowlski said. “I knocked something under that unit and I can’t - ”

“Of course, ma’am,” he anticipated, glad to have something useful to do.

The size and weight of the unit, which seemed to be solidly constructed and approximately eighty years old, meant that it could not be moved by one person. Removing his jacket, Fraser ended up flat on his stomach; even then it took him a considerable amount of stretching and wriggling before he was able to reach the object and draw it out into the open. It proved to be an empty cardboard container for a video tape.

“There now,” Mrs Jabowlski said, as he refastened the jacket of his uniform, something about the way he fastened the buttons betraying his irritation. “Who would have thought it.”

Fraser looked up, his expression stern. “Ma’am, about that box. I am certain I saw it on the table when I first came into the apartment.”

“Well how could that be?” Mrs Jabowlski asked reasonably. “Why would I want to watch you wriggle across my carpet?”

Unable to find a reason that satisfied him, Fraser allowed the matter to drop, although the feeling that she was amused remained with him as he made her another cup of tea.

It was only when he bent to pick up her spectacle case for the second time that his suspicions were confirmed.

“Ma’am, you - ”

“Enjoy looking at a nice pair of buns? Damn right, I do. Your Detective Vecchio understood that. He seems to appreciate the same thing himself. He’s a sexy guy,” she added in the manner of a connoisseur.

For a moment Fraser hesitated but he could see no harm in telling the truth. “Yes, he is.”

“You should tell him what you feel for him, you know that?”

For a moment Fraser wasn’t sure if he had heard her correctly.

“Spare me the big-eyed act. We’re neither of us fools,” she snapped with a defensiveness which suggested she knew she had over-stepped the mark.

“That’s certainly true where you’re concerned, ma’am. I would prefer not to discuss my private life with - ”

“ - some nosy old hag?” she suggested helpfully.

“ - someone who is a virtual stranger to me,” he said with deliberation.

“Attaboy,” she exclaimed with approval. “If you’re worrying that I intend to start crocheting the pair of you a cute comforter, don’t.”

“Then why are you interesting yourself in our - my - life?” he demanded, seriously ruffled by this time.

Her gleeful expression sobered. “Because I can’t abide waste,” she told him frankly. “There’s too little love around to want to see any go to waste. At my age you can’t but help think of the things you wish you’d done, as well as the things you wish you hadn’t. *Carpe diem*, Constable. Otherwise you’ll be old and toothless, with an empty space in the bed next to you and a parcel of regrets. But a limp dick won’t stop you from enjoying a cuddle with your lover, whatever your age.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t,” he said with a killing courtesy.

“The same way you’re sure it will never happen to you,” she recognised. “Take it from me, old age is always a joke that’s played on other people. Still, when you consider the alternatives it’s not so bad. Maybe I am getting senile at that, letting this damn wolf into my apartment. Do you feed him enough?”

By the time Fraser had successfully defended himself from the charge of starving the innocent, Diefenbaker had disposed of seven cookies and a paper napkin. He then began a shameless flirtation with Mrs Jabowlski when he discovered her ability to judge exactly which place on his back needed scratching.

Mrs Jabowlski shook her head in self-disgust. “Definitely getting senile,” she remarked when she realised her hand was wrist deep in wolf fur. “I’ve never cared for animals and I’m not about to change at my time of life. You can see yourself out. Don’t forget what I said.”

“You’re not senile, ma’am,” Fraser assured her from the doorway.

“Don’t get smart with me, young man. Thanks for calling around. I appreciate it,” she added gruffly.

“It was my pleasure,” said Fraser. It was only then that he realised the time he had spent in her company had made the world seem a more positive place again; he made a point of telling her so.

“Silver-tongue!” she scoffed. “Detective Vecchio is a lucky man. Now go, before that wolf sheds any more of his coat. Go!” she commanded.

Smiling, Fraser went.

 

It was mid-evening before all the paperwork was cleared up. Both Mr and Mrs Dewy ended up in the same hospital, thanks to some vigorous string-pulling and calling in of favors. But they weren’t together and were unlikely to be together ever again.

Vecchio rubbed his bloodshot eyes and shivered inside his topcoat as they left the precinct house.

“I’ll give you a lift home.”

“I’m fine, Ray.”

“Don’t give me that. Neither of us is fine. The car’s round the back. Come on, Dief.”

The night was clear and frosty, although light pollution from the city masked many of the stars. Neither man was inclined to look heavenward tonight.

“I believe Henry Mayne will prove to have had an eggshell skull,” said Fraser as he gestured for Diefenbaker to get into the rear seat of the Buick.

“Seems like. Damn, what a mess. At least the mayor’s mother wasn’t involved,” remarked Vecchio, as if he felt he must make an effort.

“Lieutenant Welsh will be relieved.”

“So will the mayor. That Henry Mayne was a real man, wasn’t he,” burst out Vecchio, probing the topic like a man who could not resist prodding a tooth to see why it didn’t ache any more. “Emphasis on the real.”

“By ‘real’ are you saying he was still capable of having sexual intercourse?”

“Sure. I gave Mrs Jabowlski another visit after you left. This time she was more cooperative. Mayne never came on to her. He preferred women he could intimidate - like Mrs Sondeheim. It seems Don Juan never learnt to take ‘no’ for an answer. Turns out he had a couple of priors for violence against women. Just missed a rape charge back in ‘55.”

“Do you think Mrs Jabowlski realises that if she had told you about Mr Mayne’s sexual aggression earlier this tragedy could have been avoided?” Fraser asked, remembering the change in her.

“I don’t know. I hope not, Benny. I sure hope not. But I think she does,” Vecchio added sombrely.

“At least there is some doubt whether Mr Dewy will be fit to plead,” offered Fraser a little while later.

“That’s no comfort, Benny. They haven’t got the money it would take to keep them out of the State - Can you believe it? Married sixty one years and still in love. Or maybe it’s just become a habit. What would I know,” said Vecchio fretfully. Heavy-eyed, his shoulders had a despondent slump and he was squinting with fatigue. “Once the charges were made it was like he slid away to join his wife in Never-Never Land. I mean, they’re still here but there’s no one home. I feel like... The hell with it. Ignore me.”

Because Fraser was careful not to make a big deal of it Vecchio followed him up to his apartment without seeming to notice what he was doing. Careful to keep it casual, Fraser switched the oven up to its highest setting and opened the door to provide some instant warmth for his friend. Vecchio hugged his topcoat tightly around him and sat at the table, his shoulders hunched as he stared at the spotlessly clean but dingy top framed between his forearms.

“No one could have done more for the Dewys than you have done, Ray,” Fraser said, drawing up one of the rickety chairs to sit beside him. He clasped Vecchio’s shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. “You had no choice. It was your duty to arrest Mr Dewy. We still don’t know for certain whether Mr Mayne really made advances to Mrs Dewy. Some of the other residents confirm that she is always claiming that men are making sexual advances to her. You may recall, she suggested that you - ”

Vecchio waved that away.

“And there is always the danger that Mr Dewy, having killed once, might be tempted to take the law into his own hands again,” continued Fraser.

Vecchio’s head bowed even further. “Didn’t I tell you? It looks like he did already,” he muttered. “Last year. A Louis Green, aged seventy seven. At the time he was thought to have been a jumper. He was known to be depressed after the death of his wife and - Sometimes this job sucks.”

Fraser cradled the back of the other man’s head. “Yes, it does, Ray.”

“Does it make any sense to you?”

Fraser stared into eyes red rimmed from lack of sleep and the emotional involvement that Ray always denied feeling. After wading through a dumpster full of rotting garbage and then being covered with urine when Mrs Dewy lost control of her bladder Ray needed at least five minutes under the shower, a shave, fresh clothing and eight hours sleep. And Fraser wanted him more than he had ever wanted anyone else. His need was so real and immediate that he wondered he didn’t shout it aloud; and the feelings strengthened with each day they spent together.

“Benny? Am I boring you?”

“Never, Ray,” said Fraser firmly. “Now, if you would like to make yourself comfortable, I will set about preparing a meal.”

Vecchio shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

Staring up into the other man’s face, Diefenbaker whined.

“But I can tell you a guy who is,” Vecchio added, remembering how the wolf had effaced himself during the last few hours, as if he had sensed there was something wrong.

“He can eat with us,” said Fraser, opening cupboard doors in a hopeful manner. He still maintained a plentiful supply of candles.

Getting up, Vecchio propped himself against the wall for support. “What are we having?” he asked, with the beginning of interest.

Fraser was filling a pan with water. “Well, um, I have noodles. And two cloves of garlic.”

“That’s a good start,” Vecchio encouraged.

“No, Ray, that’s it. I have nothing more.”

Vecchio checked his watch. “This time of the morning, even the convenience store will be closed. “Noodles and garlic will be fine.”

Remembering the wonderful food habitually eaten by the Vecchio family, Fraser turned from the packet he was opening to stare at the other man. The smell of urine was becoming more noticeable in the heat but he hardly registered it; his attention was fixed on something hinted at in his companion’s expression.

For a moment Fraser hesitated, torn between desire and prudence. Then he heard the echo of Mrs Jabowlski’s voice urging him to live out his dreams before it was too late.

*Carpe diem*. Seize the day - although seizing Ray would suit him more, he admitted, wondering if this was hysteria. It felt better than he had expected it to.

Wasting no more time, Fraser went over to where the other man stood and cupped the back of Vecchio’s head with one hand. Without saying a word, he leant forward to kiss Ray full on his parted mouth.

His eyes widening with shock, Vecchio accepted it with all the enthusiasm of a slab of frozen beef.

His world crumbling around him, Fraser withdrew slightly and fumbled for the words which might leave them with something.

It was then that Vecchio came to life and caught hold of Fraser’s hand before drawing him as close as was possible.

“Ah, Benny, don’t look like that. You just took me by surprise, that’s all. What do you say to us trying again, while we’re both concentrating?”

The results were spectacular as they fed from each other’s mouths, voracious, as if starved; tender even in the heat of their lust.

“Ray, is anything wrong?” inquired Fraser, once he had got his breath back.

“Not a thing. Well, yeah, there is as it happens.”

“Tell me,” coaxed Fraser, his hands running up and down Vecchio’s spine with just the right amount of pressure.

“It sounds so dumb,” complained Vecchio.

Fraser brushed the side of the troubled mouth with his own. Then, because he could not stand the smell at close range any longer, he wasted no time in relieving the other man of his by now very smelly topcoat, the heat from the oven having done its work.

“Tell me what’s bothering you,” he murmured persuasively, insinuating one leg between Vecchio’s to improve the fit of their bodies.

“I’m not sure - I mean - Dammit, I don’t know where to touch you.”

Fraser paused and thought about it. His body still plastered against Vecchio’s, he had the comfortingly confirmation that Ray’s body had no doubts, whatever uncertainty its owner thought he was suffering.

“Anywhere,” Fraser said. “I shall enjoy you touching me anywhere.”

“Yeah?” Vecchio began to look more cheerful - although that might have been because of the hands which had unfastened the zipper of his pants and slipped inside. “Any particular bits in preference to others?” Grateful that Benny had had the forethought to remove his Mountie jacket, Vecchio was dealing with the rest with a dexterity born of desire.

Fraser’s breath caught and he shifted stance to ensure best possible access to Vecchio’s hands. “You seem to have discovered my preferences for yourself.”

As Vecchio massaged Fraser’s wonderfully fat cock they began to exchange slow, sloppy kisses. Fraser’s hands cupped Vecchio’s ass, pulling him as close as was possible.

Some time later they evicted a bored looking Diefenbaker from the single bed. Vecchio finally naked, a soft sound of appreciation escaped Fraser.

“It’s not too late to back out of this if you’re having second thoughts.” Vecchio’s stiff-legged gait and too tight voice betrayed his nervous state.

Fraser slid his palm down over that wonderfully firm torso before circling a nipple with the side of his thumb. “Would you object if I indulged in fellatio?” he inquired.

Vecchio spluttered, then jumped a mile when Fraser’s hand encircled him. “No. Uh, that is, no. Not at all. Can we lie down here, Benny? Only I’d like to - And can you ask Dief to look the other way? I’m as hip as the next guy from a good Catholic family but I’m not used to an audience when I make love.”

“Make love?” queried Fraser, his mouth still against Vecchio’s skin as he learnt his taste.

“No question about it,” confirmed Vecchio as he dreamily sucked the base of his lover’s throat. Clean-living had to have something going for it. Benny tasted wonderful.

“Dief, kitchen,” said Fraser, easing Vecchio down onto the mattress.

Yet to accustom himself to the bed’s lack of height, Vecchio misjudged the last foot or so and landed with a bump, dragging Fraser down on top of him.

“Eager, I like that,” Vecchio murmured in between kisses. He felt grateful that he’d had the forethought to get Benny to strip while they were still vertical. He tasted so good. And the feel of him. The wonderful firm, responsive feel of him.

Their bodies fitted together as if made for each other and after some initial awkwardness they soon worked out a pace and rhythm that suited them best.

“Oh my goodness,” gasped Fraser, making one word of it just before he came.

Vecchio was less coherent, and loud enough to make Diefenbaker stick his head around the leg of the table. Seeing that all was well, he retreated to the warm patch in front of the open oven door.

Breathless and clutching each other as if to a life-raft, the two men remained in a sticky, close-entwined embrace. Fraser discovered his inability to stop kissing Vecchio, who was an astonishingly talented kisser. His lips rosy from the exercise they were getting, Fraser had the forethought to tell him so.

“Thank Marie Tolliver,” replied Vecchio. By the way he took the compliment in his stride it obviously wasn’t the first time he had been told that.

“Thank you, Marie,” murmured Fraser in heartfelt tones before he went back for more. There was something Ray did with his tongue that was most - stimulating probably described it best, he thought hazily.

“Benny,” muttered Vecchio when his mouth was briefly his own again, “is there any chance we could close the window? Only there are bits of me going blue that I’m sure you’d rather didn’t wither and drop off in the cold.”

“So there are,” discovered Fraser.

The window was shut three seconds later.

 

Breakfast was late, due in the main to Fraser ambushing Vecchio on his return from the bathroom down the hall.

Ravenous by the time they got around to considering mundane matters like food, Vecchio stared at the over-cooked noodles clumped on the metal dish in front of him.

“Do you eat like this much?” he asked, poking the unappetising lump with his fork. The solid mass barely yielded to the pressure.

“All the time - except when I am with you.”

“No wonder Dief is always mugging people for food,” mumbled Vecchio through a mouthful of naked noodles. After chewing vigorously for some time he conceded defeat and just swallowed hard. Shaking his head, he looked across the table.

“Yes, Ray?” encouraged Fraser when Vecchio just sat and stared at him.

“Uh, I’ve lost my thread.”

“Thread of what, Ray?”

“Whatever I was going to say. Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are? Don’t answer that. Of course you don’t. If you did, being the sort of guy you are, you’d probably pin a health warning to your chest or something. ‘Staring at me can be prejudicial to your heart.’ Mrs Jabowlski thinks you have a great ass, too.”

Mildly perplexed, Fraser raised his dark eyebrows. “You discussed my ass with Mrs Jabowlski?”

“Not voluntarily. That is, she mentioned it and I agreed and - I’m talking nonsense, aren’t I?” continued Vecchio in the same matter of fact tone.

“Yes, Ray.”

“Figures. As soon as I’ve finished these noodles I’m going to take you shopping. A man could starve living with you. Uh, that is - ” Vecchio lost some of his certainty.

“You would be prepared to live with me, Ray?”

Vecchio hadn’t seen that sort of full-blown smile from Fraser before; under its influence he lost what little coherency he possessed.

“Yeah,” he said vaguely. “What? Sure. Why not? I mean, it’s not like I’ll be suffering, or doing you a favor.”

“As a matter of fact, Ray - ”

“Trust me, I won’t be doing you a favor. Not that I’ll let that stand in my way. These noodles are really disgusting,” he added. He sounded strangely happy about the fact.

“Leave them.”

“Are you kidding? For what I’ve got in mind I’m going to need all my strength.”

Fraser gave Vecchio a speculative look, then heaped his uneaten portion of noodles on to Ray’s plate.

 

THE END


End file.
